


These Delicate Pages

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Unapologetic "no hands!" pwp
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	These Delicate Pages

Crowley is sure to scuff his feet and clear his throat as he comes up behind Aziraphale. The angel has been hunched over his desk for the better part of the day now. 

Crowley doesn’t mind watching him work. He doesn’t mind lounging and dozing on the sofa while listening to the gentle whisper of paper-on-paper and the occasional grumble. The smell of all the old books filling his senses lets him know that he is somewhere safe, protected. Aziraphale has told him the smell of the books reminds him of all the stories they contain; that it’s like being surrounded by a crowd at all times, but a pleasant murmur. To Crowley, they just remind him of Aziraphale. It’s the smell that clings to him, even when he leaves his home. Even after they’ve been out to dine and they get back in his car, he can still smell the old pages. Aziraphale’s stacks of musty books smell like home to Crowley, because Aziraphale is his home, his constant.

Just because he makes a sound, doesn’t mean that he’s heard. Aziraphale jumps when his hands come to rest on his shoulders. Tense shoulders, Crowley can feel the strain in them. Yes, they can be still for ages but that doesn’t mean it’s good for these human bodies they live in. He leans forward to kiss Aziraphale’s temple in apology for scaring him and can feel his skin pull in to a smile even if he can’t quite see it. It still feels risky to kiss him so openly with the windows open and people passing by on the street. Though, at this point it’s more of a thrill than a panic. A double beat of the heart before a return to normal.

He gently works the tense muscles under his fingers, kneading and rubbing circles and is rewarded when Aziraphale leans back from restoring the old tome on his desk and into his hands. He spins the chair around slowly and smirks at the Angel. His white gloves are still on his hands and he’s holding them aloft and to the sides.

“Crowley.” It’s a warning, playful but with a serious edge. Crowley smirks, slithering into the chair with him, a knee on either side of his hips. “Crowley, no!” His gloved hands are further out to the sides now.

“Guess you’ll have to keep your hands to yourself, hmm?” He’s got his nose buried in Aziraphale’s neck now, close enough to flesh to smell the essence of him under the smell of musty paper and old leather. Aziraphale squeaks. Really, the chair shouldn’t hold them both. It should creak and complain. But, it doesn’t because they both believe it shouldn’t.

“Oh!” A sharp nip to his jaw has Aziraphale flailing his arms, the desire to put his hands on Crowley making them ache, twitch. “You serpent, this is not fair!”

“Wouldn’t want to get anything on the gloves, Angel, those are only for touching the very old, very delicate books. You wouldn’t want to… soil them.” Crowley punctuates this thought by taking Aziraphale’s earlobe between his teeth and sucking it hard as he settles firmly into Aziraphale’s wiggling lap. He pulls back just enough to watch the pulse tripping along faster and faster at the side of his neck before grazing his teeth over it. He’s rewarded when Aziraphale tips his head back over the chair back, baring his throat. Something primal slithers up between his ribs and down to tighten around his groin.

“Crowley…” His name is said differently, now. Deeper and filled with need. Aziraphale’s hands flutter at his sides before landing, decidedly, on the arms of the chair and clenching.

“These,” Crowley growls softly, gripping Aziraphale’s forearms, “stay here.” He listens to Aziraphale’s breath trip over itself for a moment before the angel nods.

“So lovely,” his s’s are drawing out now as he leans in close to Aziraphale’s neck again, barely grazing it with his nose as he breathes in his layered scent. “Do you know? Even when I go, I can still smell you on me? It… lingers…” He places a soft kiss over his bobbing adam’s apple before nosing down along Aziraphale’s still tightly buttoned-up shirt collar.

“Please…” It comes out as a definitive whine now. Crowley leans away again to watch the man beneath him squirm and pant, hands clenched all the tighter on the arms of the chair.

“Please, what?” He slides a hand along Aziraphale’s side and down his thigh. “Is there something you want, Angel?”

“More.” It would almost sound like an order if it didn’t come out so breathless. Crowley trails a fingers up his thigh and over the throbbing effort in is trousers. “Touch me, please.” Aziraphale’s head is still thrown back, but Crowley watches his lashes flutter as his eyes clench shut.

“I am touching you,” and he does, stroking him with a tantalizingly gentle slowness through the cloth. He hears the chair arms noisily protest Aziraphale’s clenching them. He has mercy on the chair, unbuttoning the fasteners under his hand and touching him properly for the first time. 

A secret about Aziraphale: he’s taken to not always wearing pants when Crowley’s around these days and the smug bastard is smirking at him now as he realizes today is one of those days. That just… won’t do. He tightens his grip and smooths his thumb over the tip, gratified when Aziraphale’s fingers lift from the arm of the chair but then seem to remember themselves and return. He throws his head back over the chair again, letting out a guttural sound. Crowley uses the distraction to slip out of his lap and to the floor, between his open knees.

“You’re going to watch me.”

“I won’t last if I do.” Crowley can hear his desperately clenched teeth.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He’s stroking him firm and slow now, watching tremors run through Aziraphale’s body. “I want to see you when you come for me, Angel.”

With some effort Aziraphale lifts his head from the back of the chair and meets Crowley’s eyes, teeth still clenched with the effort of it.

“I want to. touch you.”

“You are.” And with that Crowley swallows him down, sucking firmly and swallowing around him, all the while maintaining steady eye contact. Aziraphale’s hips make small, aborted thrusts and the chair squeaks in earnest under his hands. Crowley runs a gentle hand up his left calf, squeezing his knee in reassurance. _I’ve got you, you’re doing so well._

Several moments pass with only the sound of slick skin on skin, panted breath, and tiny, broken noises of pleasure. Crowley can see that Aziraphale is fighting to keep his eyes open as the pleasure hits him, throwing them wide open for him so he can watch. He groans around him, working him through his orgasm and swallowing his reward.

Aziraphale’s head falls limply back against the chair as he takes in deep, desperate breaths he shouldn’t need, but does. Crowley crawls back up into his lap, carefully removing the gloves from his hands and miracle away the finger-shaped dents in the chair arms. The moment he’s settled in Aziraphale’s lap properly the angel is kissing him deep and wet, hands clenching in his hair.

“There will be payback for that, you know.”

“Oh, Angel, I’m counting on it.”


End file.
